Title: If There Never Was
Author: Ignited
Posted: 03-11-2002
Email: Ignited
Category: Romance, Drama, Angst, AU-ish
Rating: R for language and sexual situations
Spoilers: Everything up to 'Waiting in the Wings', set a few months after in the future. Lots of speculation here
Summary: One night passes in Angel's life, and before he knows it, the fate of his life and others is twisted so drastically that he begins to lose his mind…
Distribution: Disharmony, List archives & those with permission. Otherwise, just ask!
Dedication: To Steffi and Kath– for always believing in me, plus generally being helpful, caring, and showing good input. And to Melissa and Christie, who are fic goddesses and great friends. This one's for you.
Author's Notes: This has been sitting in my computer since June, at least. Along with two other fanfics that I planned to write, but unfortunately have no time to put real thought into them. So, this is a combination of three different ideas. With the emergence of Vanilla Sky, a similar but distinctly different story, I decided to finally complete this minor story, of which has turned into a full fledged monstrosity of a fic. It's my seriously screwed up and basically nothing alike, take on Vanilla Sky. Open minds are required, please…

Chapter Four

"Buffy, you got a lot of guts stayin' here."

The Slayer looked at her counterpart, blonde and brunette in the room belonging to her and Angel. Buffy shook her head ruefully, fitting the stakes in her belt. She could see Faith in the mirror, leaning her boot on the chair near the bed, lacing it up. Glancing at the mirror, Buffy touched her hair gingerly, checking to see that if was in place, immaculate.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, a slight giggle at the end of her sentence.

Faith finished, standing up straight and then stretching to reach her toes. "You know. Angel."

"Angel?" Buffy opened her stick of lip-gloss. "He's capable of taking care of himself."

"Oh really?" Faith sounded sarcastic. "He can barely take a shit without you fussing over him."

Her hands faltered. She lowered the lip-gloss, looking at Faith's reflection in the mirror. "That's not true."

"Yeah, it is. You know it. Fuck Buffy, we all know it. We just don't say shit about it. You're treating Angel like shit."

Not wanting to fight, Buffy applied her lip-gloss. "Faith, you know that isn't fair. Or true, either."

"'That's not true, Faith. I am but a servant to the world! I am a Slaaaaayer,'" Faith started, trying to imitate Buffy while climbing up on the bed. She jumped a little in place a few times, going on and laughing.

"Faith, cut it," Buffy snapped tersely. She put the cap on the lip-gloss, turning around. "Cut it out! You could break your neck!"

The brunette Slayer stopped jumped in place, a warm smirk appearing on those dark features. She crossed her arms. "What did I tell you? Even fussing about other people, too."

She received a sigh in response. Buffy walked over to the bed after tossing the item of makeup onto the drawer top. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped while Faith jumped and sat down next to her with a flourish.

"After what happened to Angel, I'm…kinda petrified," Buffy admitted, staring at her fingers. She gave a small smile and laugh, shaking her head slowly. "I'm just afraid that'll happen again. That I'll lose him. That I'll lose someone else. You. Heck, even Spike," she added sarcastically, scrunching her nose.

Faith nodded demurely, examining her nails for a second. She then clamped a strong hand on Buffy's thigh. "You gotta let him go, girl. Let him breathe. Because it's bad enough for him to be what he is today."

Standing up, Faith rolled her eyes, looking down at Buffy. "Shit. Now you got me talkin' like an after school special. Try to let him do what he wants. He's human, yeah, but still all 'tortured' and 200 plus. And he's a GUY. You know how they get."

Rolling her shoulder muscles, Buffy looked up. That small smile of hers appeared. "I guess you're right."

"'Cause if you don't, I might have to move in and show the little boy some loooove," Faith grinned, joking. She growled a bit, arms raising as she dance in place, hips swaying. Buffy shouted at her, a carefree tone as she plucked a pillow from the bed and threw it playfully at Faith.

Yeah. Let him breathe. I can do that.

*

Swiftly guided by the morning rays, Angel's pickup truck slowed at the sidewalk curb. He killed the ignition, staring straight ahead. A rumble in the back sounded, and soon those two lithe figures jumped up and out of the open back compartment. Buffy and Faith made their way to the small, abandoned building while Cordelia's hand lingered on the door handle.

Angel looked over at her, concerned. "Is there a problem?"

Cordelia shook her head, shrugging. As he took his sunglasses off, she pointed to the window. "Nah. Just a little unsettling to see how gung-ho those two are. Usually I'm stuck on patrol with lame asses who can't fight for shit."

Her eyes opened wide, before blurting out, "No offense."

Just rub more salt into the wound, why don't you, Chase?

Glancing to the driver's seat, she noticed the door was shut. Angel had already gotten out of the truck, moving to the back.

"None taken," Angel answered, lifting a dirty leather bag from the back. Cordelia hopped out of the truck, slamming her door shut. Sword and sheath firmly attached to her belt, the girl stood by as Angel rummaged through the bag, picking up a crossbow and a stake.

"Aerial combat sorta. Nice," Cordelia complimented, looking at the crossbow.

Angel nodded to the warehouse, starting forward. "If you think shooting on the sidelines is, then yeah. Nice."

He looked at her for a moment, then continued, "You didn't have to tag along."

"Well, I want to." Cordelia swung her arms a little, fingers tracing the sword's sheath edge. "There's nothing else to do, and I figure I can even up the score a little."

Condescendingly looking at her with a frown, Angel then sighed.

"I'm going. I'm helping. Deal," Cordelia grunted, looking to the equipment, then to him.

Following close behind him, Cordelia's eyes darted left and right. The place was your typical bad guy alley: strewn garbage, parking lot littered with car parts, dirt. Tire streaks on the concrete, dents and burns on the warehouse metal doors. She almost asked him why he did not seem as motivated as Buffy and Faith to go barging in, but then thought the better of it. He was a private person, she gathered, and if he wanted to tell her anything, then it would be in due time.

"Cordelia."

"Yes?"

"I need some breathing room, you know. Comes with the whole human, need oxygen thing."

Noticing her immediate proximity to him, Cordelia took a step back then entered the warehouse behind him. Whispering low to explain herself, she told him, "I'm just jazzed, I guess. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," Angel murmured, eyes lifting heavenwards to view the layout of the warehouse. High up in the rafters, stray traces of sunlight streamed down to shine pools of golden light upon the floor. The cracked, dirty windows let sunlight flow in freely, but nearly all of the light was blocked from the dark material tarp, hung up from high above by dusty ropes.

The air was stagnant, dirt and tiny lint floating in the air in swirls, if you paid attention to that kind of thing. Gesturing to her to follow him, Angel slung the strap of his crossbow around his shoulder before climbing up a rusted metal ladder. They were quick and silent in their movements; he helped her up onto the landing of the catwalk.

Before she could open her mouth, Angel shook his head, indicating for her to remain quiet. They continued along the catwalk, Cordelia taking stray glances below. Dusty boxes and old machinery were on the ground, car parts, tow trucks… Other things she couldn't even put a name to. Chains and pipes ran along, and hung down from the ceiling. The whole place smelled of gasoline and oil.

Caught off guard by Angel's sudden stop, Cordelia bumped into him, her closeness startling him slightly. Angel loosened the crossbow, taking it into his hands with the skill of an expert. He looked below, dark eyes scanning the ground before–

–Faith sailed through the air, tumbling over some crates before falling to the ground on her back. She jumped up, slamming a boot into the face of the vampire that threw her, a large meaty brute of a demon, tattoos and piercings galore. She gave him another wallop before screaming in that sexy way of hers.

Buffy backed into the large area surrounded by crates, blocking a blow to her head. She gave a few punches and kicks in retaliation before flipping backwards to stand side by side with Faith. Looking around frantically, Buffy watched as more vampires came pouring in. She guessed the whole biker gang had been bitten, judging from the many outfits of leather and multiple piercings.

"Doesn't that hurt?" Buffy murmured, a fighting position. She was terse in her tone, given the fact that they were seriously outnumbered.

Oh God…

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them, aiming the crossbow. He told Cordelia to run off at his cue and try to untie the ropes of the tarp.

"Angel, you can't–"

"When I tell you, you do it. End of story," Angel clipped, holding the crossbow close. Faith and Buffy were nearly back to back now, and even then, Faith looked calm. Reckless, wild, and that's why Spike likes her so much, Angel guessed.

"Now."

She went off like a bullet, a graceful deadly thing as he released a wooden bolt from the crossbow. Whizzing through the air, it plunged into the heart of one unlucky biker vamp, before a second one fell a few seconds later. Hazel eyes darted up, Buffy's mouth forming the perfect shape of his name before being leaped upon from behind. Faith yelled wildly, slamming two vampires together before dusting them both.

Angel began to reload his crossbow, glancing upward. Cordelia had climbed a ladder, scaling up with the expertise of a gymnast. Lithe, agile and flowing, she reached a rafter, a stern look on her face. Angel heard the click, swoosh, then snap of her sword blade cutting through brittle rope. One corner down. So much more to–

ZING!

"Shit!"

He jerked to the side, moving to take safety in the shadow of a vertical support beam.

It's not like I have enough to deal with. Now guns? Honestly, what is the demonic underworld coming to?

Thin enough to fit behind it, Angel continued with the once easier process. Bolt…there…mechanism… It used to be so easy, so simple, and now he was having trouble doing something that should've been like riding a bike.

Maybe the accident lowered some IQ points, there too. That would explain those visions. I'm slowly going insane, aren't I?

The echo and clamor of fighting below rose, boxes and metal clanging against the ground after being through. The backward, agonizing scream and whoosh of a vampire dusted followed grunting of tired Slayers. Buffy and Faith kicked and punched their way through the mass, stake after stake meeting countless dead bodies.

But it wasn't enough.

They kept coming.

Finished, he turned from the safety of the beam to fire, but another clamor and shower of bullets nicked the pipes and railings near him. Sparks flew, and Angel ducked repeatedly, very much aware of how easy bullets could puncture human flesh. A vampire felt pain, yes, but it went away soon. The wounds, scars healed.

Unlike him.

– That brunette, her hair short, streaked blonde, stared at the retreating blonde girl, a vampire with a blue robe on. The girl ran up the staircase, taking a glance back before exiting hurriedly. It was a large area, crates…dark lighting. Behind the curtains of a stage, he surmised. He saw her, but he was in the background, having watched the exchange between them. Without turning her head, sensing him there:

"Don't say anything. Not a word." –

"Angel!"

Cordelia called his name, cutting another rope loose. So far, some baby streaks of sunlight went down, but not enough to fully work. It was dark in the warehouse, though stuffy and hot inside. She heard Buffy yell, while Faith slammed her fist into one burly vampire's jaw, breaking it.

Speaking of insanity, there we go, Angel thought inwardly, the visions starting up again. He frowned while ducking his head, avoiding the two, three shots fired in his direction again, sparks flying when they connected with metal. I don't need this right now.

She had called his name…

Two, three, four. Slice, slice, slice. The blade had some resistance, but it would go in. She had some experience in that.

A snap, frayed rope, twirling, untangling–

"AHHHHH!"

Screams and hollering could be heard as the sunlight streamed down from the skylight. The air was dotted with clouds, white against bright robin's egg blue, vanilla falling.

It showered death down, flames rising and enveloping bodies twisting into ashes.

They were gone. But it was hard to tell whom, exactly. The vampires, or the ones who had defeated them.

"Angel! Oh God, are you all right?"

Snapping her head up, Cordelia climbed down slowly from the rafters to see Buffy clamber up the metallic ladder. Angel had slung the crossbow on his back, looking disappointed. Faith remained on the ground floor, looking around and bending down occasionally to sift through the 'sand' of the dead.

The blonde Slayer went up to Angel in a rush, nearly leaping on him. She obviously hesitated, taking a step back before lifting his chin. There was a dark, streaky graze on his brow, blood trickling down his jaw.

"You're hurt," Buffy accused. Her eyes lifted to look at his own darker ones.

Angel frowned, eyes glancing upwards before looking back at her. "It's just a scratch," he pointed out, heartily aware that one bullet grazed his brow.

"I shouldn't have let you come."

"I needed to," Angel retaliated, sounding like a boy getting caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "I can't just stay and sulk around the hotel. I needed some fresh air. You know… To meet people."

He was just about to turn to look in Cordelia's direction when Buffy caressed his cheek, holding him back.

"I don't want you to get hurt. Not in your state."

Cordelia watched quietly as Buffy gave Angel a kiss, a little long one, his face looking no less melancholy than before.

They'd go home, she knew, patch each other up… continue the routine of their daily lives. No matter what Faith shouted from below, or how Angel kept his eyes on the ground, it would be that way.

She wished her life could be so simple.

*

"That's it? Did you go to the hospital after that to check for more damage?"

"One of the main rules of slaying: Try to keep it as secret as possible, unless the wounds are life threatening. We couldn't just waltz into the hospital at any time. Besides… Buffy and I aren't too comfortable with hospitals."

"Because of the accident."

"Because of the things that's happened to us there. I put her in the hospital. I saw my friends barely clinging to life– comas, loss of blood… I don't like the atmosphere. It creeps me out."

"You? Well, isn't that a little odd?"

"What? Me getting freaked? Once you've been in a high risk car crash, you get fucking freaked out by any little thing."

"I guess you're right. Do you feel up to talking about the accident?"

"…"

"Angel–"

"How about another question?"

"Ah. Okay then. Learning more about your friends can help us figure out what happened too. Do you think you can tell me more about them?"

"I guess."

*

Mmm mmm mm Mmm mm mm Mmm mmm… I wanna be sedated.

Shit. Where the hell were the blokes? Spike wondered, his incessant 'soundtrack' playing on repeat in his mind. He had thought about this question after entering the hotel through the basement, up from the sewers. Considering the time of day, it was not a good idea to go gallivanting about the bloody sidewalks because of the sun. Also, those overeager and pushy consumers down the street. You throw a damn sale, the people flock to it like maggots to dead flesh.

It reminded him of Drusilla, that metaphor. He always loved those tapered fingers, picturing them squirming and flicking about in an impersonation. Those dark eyes on his untamed baby, her smile like wild horses, free and beautiful.

Dru was gone though, and he opened the fridge in the office for a bite to eat.

Glancing at the rocky road ice cream– God, how his girl loved it– he took the usual container of blood. Blah. Nothing new.

Spike muttered something to himself, looking briefly at the hotel counter. A bus map had been placed on the surface, other papers abound. A red circle shown near a distant block, other red circles at odd places scattered about the map. He knew it was the map of vampire nests connected to that ponce, Jacob… something. Whatever the hell his last name was.

The boy owes me money, Spike remembered, decades old nights of debauchery and smoke filled European taverns coming to mind.

This particular circle was new, he could tell. The ink was fresh, red like blood.

He wondered if Faith would let him have a nibble tonight. She didn't exactly like it, but wouldn't mind a nip now and then. Their 'sexcapades' as she called them, were already wild enough.

And to think he was here, working for bloody Angel in Los Angeles, all because he followed the Slayer. To think now, of the aggression and hatred in his heart when he found out he'd been chipped. Rendered useless, feeling much like it until he formed a makeshift agreement with Buffy. They wouldn't cut each other's eyes out, much less kill each other. In Los Angeles, he felt alone until his fallen angel, Faith, showed up…

Maybe just a nibble, or two. Three would fit.

*

Cordelia Chase felt extremely awkward sitting in Angel's truck. He hadn't spoken at all while they were driving back to the hotel. He merely looked straight ahead, eyes on the road, one hand gripping the steering wheel on the bottom of it. Ever so slightly, he'd move his left hand, left, right…the car would agree with him.

God, she was staring at his damn hands now.

She sighed emphatically, resting her cheek against her palm, elbow on the door. Buffy and Faith were in the back of the truck, occasionally talking or staring at the sights. Daytime in LA, people everywhere. Even if it wasn't nighttime, they were doing their jobs, shopping, talking…fun. That old thing called fun. Where had it gone?

"Cor…delia," Angel began, dark brown eyes still transfixed on the road. "You want– I could put the radio on for you, if you want."

"No. You don't have to," Cordelia dismissed the notion politely, waving a hand.

Angel leaned a bit, flicking the radio on while still driving. He turned the dial, radio blaring some stations before the sound dissolved to static. Muttering, Angel smacked the radio until the sound died abruptly.

"Damn it," he murmured, wincing. Damn thing cut his finger. Jeez. Every single… thing… remember, weakness…

"Here."

Cordelia turned the radio off, then grabbed his hand. Almost mocking a chivalrous gentleman, she gave his pointer finger a small kiss before releasing his hand. After getting a curious glance from Angel, Cordelia shrugged. "There. Made it better."

She nodded knowingly. "It's supposed to work. Or so 'they' say."

A slow smile creeped onto her face as she watched Angel's reaction. What…was.. Ah, there. That was it. A bright flash of a smile. He chuckled to himself at her actions, putting both hands on the wheel as he drove, shaking his head.

He instructed himself to never wash that hand again.

*

"Okay, here's the deal. We have ourselves a bigger problem than we thought."

The five were resting in various places amongst the hotel lobby. Spike leaned forward on the hotel counter, looking at Faith who was seated on top of the counter, legs dangling. Angel and Cordelia sat on the island-like seat in the middle of the lobby, looking toward a less than happy Buffy. It was strategy time, and all Buffy needed was a whip or rod, and she could pass for General Patton, what with the look on her face.

"While I was talking to Angel, Faith snooped around the warehouse. She checked the first floor where we were fighting in, also a side office. Found something. Turns out these creeps might not be as alone as we thought," Buffy drawled, her arms crossed. She unfolded them to reveal a white business card in her hand, passing it to Angel. Untying her ponytail, Buffy shook her hair free, running her fingers through it.

He looked at the card, feeling Cordelia lean over to see it as well.

Wolfram & Hart.

Spike's brow furrowed. "The lawyers? What do they need with a bunch of scraggly oafs like the ones you two dusted?"

"Three. Angel pulled off a couple of shots," Cordelia interjected, nearly beaming. Angel gave her a look, flipping the card on his fingers while looking up at Buffy. She looked cute in that olive peasant shirt and blue jeans.

"So they're up to their old tricks again. You'd would think they'd cut that shit after what happened to you," Faith murmured, directing her comment towards Angel.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "I think the phrase 'no rest for the wicked' would apply here."

Lost in thought, Angel felt Cordelia's fingers prodding at his side. The look on her face was curious and questioning, but he dismissed the thought of talking back.

"What interest would they have with us?"

"With you, when we last took count. Remember, they didn't care much for your throwing a respected ponce out the window," Spike pointed out, glancing to Faith. She was now twirling a letter opener in her fingers, appreciating the deadly precision of the metal blade.

Angel nodded. "With me." He looked to Buffy for a plausible explanation.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," she said with resolve. The Slayer's posture straightened even more than her ramrod stance. "Spike, you're going to check out your contacts. Put the squeeze on them and see what you can get."

Her gaze fixed on Faith. "You can go with him, if you want."

Receiving a mock salute from Faith in return, the once rogue Slayer hopped off the counter, joining Spike near the coat rack to grab their jackets before heading for the basement tunnel.

Spike walked by Buffy, a strict tone. He looked hard at her, blue eyes meeting green.

"Be careful."

"I will," she answered, a finger looping onto a belt loop.

Cordelia leaned forward, sitting straight without leaning. She looked at them both, feeling something. An unsure feeling… Two blondes with immeasurable power, Slayer and Vampire, jewel eyes and savage anger when provoked.

Something, both of them… it was unnerving when you thought about it for too long.

Faith walked by them both, blowing a kiss to Buffy before entering the basement. Angel flipped the card on his fingers again, pausing to look at the print on it.

She stared for another minute, the electricity and sheer power of both Buffy and Spike… it seemed frightening. But only for a second, because Spike walked away from Buffy, her lingering eyes following his trenchcoat. Buffy turned to Angel and Cordelia, the latter jerking her head down and right to look over Angel's shoulder.

"Angel, Cordelia… Take a break." To Cordelia, "You've done more than enough."

"It's okay," Cordelia started, head tilting. She looked at Angel, then Buffy, a warm smile. "It's not like I have anyone I know here. Figured I could make sure you guys are all right. You're good people."

Buffy smiled a bit. "Thanks. You don't need to stay around too long though."

Before Cordelia could respond, Buffy looked hard at Angel. "Are you okay?"

Fingers touching the bandage on his brow, the grazed wound was half obscured by rakish bangs. "Considering the amount of pain that I went through after the shot, I survived," he said, remembering her patching his wounds earlier with Cordelia hovering nearby. Antiseptic. Not necessarily a good thing.

"I survived…"

The tarnished metal hubcap rolled by like a lone tumbleweed on the pavement. Flames licked and burned the air with a slow ferocity as she stumbled over weak feet, eyes streaky. Everything passed in slow motion, Buffy reaching the car with wild eyes. Her fingers gripped the window frame, and it took all she could not to cry out in horror…

Her throat grew constricted, and all Buffy could manage was a nod, eyes somber and looking to the ground. "I - I'm gonna go see what I can find out. Remember, take it easy. Do something fun."

"We'll be fine," Cordelia told her, leaning forward on her seat to rest elbows on her knees.

With just a serious glance to Angel, Buffy grabbed her canvas bag and jacket before leaving out the back entrance.

There was silence again. Angel cleared his throat, thinking of something to say.

He straightened, an eyebrow raised, not looking directly at her. "You got a ride home? I could take you in the truck, if you don't want to take the bus."

"Oh no, mister. You're not getting rid of me that easily," Cordelia retorted, standing up. She grabbed onto Angel's hand with both hands, pulling him up to his feet. Angel held the W&H card in his free hand, giving another glance before stuffing it into his back pocket.

Angel looked incredulous. Think. Think before blurting another inane comment. "And what do you propose we do?"

"Something fun. Slayer's orders."

"Ah, that's right," Angel drawled.

Cordelia gazed at him for a second, then asked, "Do you always listen to Buffy's orders?"

"And that something fun…is?" He wondered, changing the subject.

A smirk flitted onto her face before she dragged him to the coat rack. "Out. We're going out…to a place. For fun. Staying here all day can get boring, you know. I know the perfect place. Drove by it while on the marvelous vehicle of Los Angeles transportation. The bus," Cordelia finished with a nod.

The expression on Angel's face was scrutinizing, or what could pass for it. "Name?"

"Caritas. Some kind of bar. You'll love it."

Chapter Five

"She took you to a bar. Did something special happen here, or what?

"If you just want to skip ahead to the good stuff, murder, mystery, intrigue, let me know, doc. But it helps to know what the hell happened prior to that."

"Sorry. It's just that it's been so…ah, informative. But it's getting late. You shouldn't have to stay."

"Oh, don't worry. It's not like I'm going anywhere. For the most part, THEY won't let me."

"Of course. I'm sorry about that. Let's continue, shall we? Was this a bar of significance?"

"In the sense that it was the first step into this nightmare, then yeah."

"Now we're on to something. How so?"

"I'm a private person. I don't like having people concerned or worried about me. I don't even like being around them. Back then… in Sunnydale, where I used to live, there was a club called the Bronze. All the social elite, and social outcasts went to it night after night, skipping homework to dance and have fun. I met Buffy there, countless times. And all I could mostly think about was my embarrassment and decades past.

"This was no exception."

*

"Cordelia… Are you sure we can just–"

"ANGEL. Relaaaax," came her voice, swaying and grooving form waltzing into the bar doorway. Her hands moved like serpents in front of her, raven tresses cascading down her back, waving because of the way her lovely body danced to the music. She nearly walked down the staircase backwards from looking at him.

Cordelia nearly hopped the distance to the bar. "Don't be such a scaredy cat."

Knowing it was more or less the afternoon, in which drinking was not usually done, Angel sighed. He could not help but stare at her though, watching how she crossed her legs on that impossibly tiny stool. Plain in her white shirt, blue jeans, she leaned over the bar, talking to the bartender.

Leaning, while there was cleava–

THUNK. "Oww."

Angel rubbed his forehead, after having bumped into the security frame at the end of the small staircase. He looked around, seeing the demon clientele. Some… thing was up on the stage singing, tentacles waving about to the lyrics. Ugh.

"You okay, honey?"

A snappily dressed demon in a cream colored suit sidled up to him, red eyes and horns looking quite fashionable. Angel continued holding his forehead, offering a thumb's up to the demon with his other hand. "I'm fine," he grunted.

Cordelia called out to him, whistling. "Angel, get over here."

After he came up to her place at the bar, she yanked the sunglasses off his face. "Who told you wearing sunglasses in buildings was the new thing?"

Avoiding her question, Angel leaned on the bar countertop with his elbow. He took another gaze around the bar, before looking to her. "Couldn't you have picked a better place with less… tentacles?"

Her fingers latched onto a strawberry from the small glass bowl in front of her, a glass of wine nearby. She let her legs dangle and swing from her place on the stool, popping the tip of the strawberry into her mouth. Sucking on it for a second or two, her hazel gaze fell upon the bar, not noticing Angel's staring at her actions. She looked like a little girl sucking her thumb, minus the pigtails and… well, the thumb.

"What other place could I have brought you to, that you would sing in?"

"Excuse me?"

Cordelia made a face after swallowing the remaining strawberry whole. It was a remarkable feat. "Did the accident frazzle your hearing too? It's the least you can do after the barrier thing."

Angel rubbed the bridge of his nose, inwardly pointing out that the main thing 'frazzled' was his face. "What - barrier thing?"

"Every time I ask a question about–" She ticked off on her fingers. "The accident, Buffy, the past…whatever, you change the subject. See, you have to do it in a subtle way, you know." A nod. "Woman's intuition."

Angel raised an eyebrow, trying to push out the noise of the warbling demon on stage. "Judging by your tone and the way you act, I'd say it's 'Cordelia's Intuition.'"

She flashed a bright smile, picking up another strawberry. Nibbling on it, Cordelia gestured to the bowl if he wanted any, but he declined. "You-" She licked her fingers. "–have to talk more. Try to get out more. I mean it."

He traced the counter edge, looking down and not meeting her eyes. In a warm tone, almost chuckling to himself, Angel murmured, "When I saved you in the alley, I wasn't looking for a psychic hotline."

"Who says that's not up next?" Cordelia asked slyly, watching the demon nearly fall off the stage in its drunken stupor. "Because…"

She placed the half-eaten strawberry back in the bowl, hopping down off the stool. He seemed so tall in comparison, and must have seemed gigantic in comparison to Buffy. But it was because of his stance, looking thin and gaunt. Now however, he looked at her curiously. Cordelia latched manicured nails onto his wrist, pulling with both hands.

In a quite serious manner and tone, she explained, "You've lost that lovin' feeling."

He opened his mouth to say something, but instead she dragged him in the direction of the stage.

"Out of all people, why do I get dragged to a karaoke bar with someone who's watched Top Gun a few too many times?"

*

"Spike, baby," Faith moaned as her lover slammed her into a brick alley wall. She shoved her there, pressing his body against her. Legs wrapped around his waist underneath his trenchcoat, Faith felt her tapered wooden stake slip from weak fingers. He was moving there…no… again. And again. And–

"Spike…I don't wanna sound like the total priss, but shouldn't we be doin' some… work?" Faith asked in a breathy rasp, searching for blue eyes besides the mussed white blonde hair, his head tilted down.

"Isn't this considered work to you? It's damn well a job, since it's mostly on my part - THIS time, love."

Faith laughed. "God, you're disgusting. Even more than me."

Spike ignored her comment. "What… You want to stop?" His voice was lilting, teasing. "Because of this noble goody-two-shoes thing Buffy put in you, isn't it?"

"Well…" Faith raised an eyebrow, looking heavenwards then back to him. "I figure we should be solvin' this because who knows what other tricks W and H can pull. They might like… set you up by those government guys to get neutered."

Spike winced at the thought. "Good point."

"Not to point out the obvious, but this ain't exactly romantic either," Faith muttered, well aware that Spike could hear her.

"What? Passing on a fuck? And being sex selective?" Spike looked incredulous. "It's… No, not your time of the month yet. I can tell."

She smacked his chest, pushing away. After a moment of scuffling, they pulled apart from each other. She let him zip up his pants while she fixed herself, clearly aware that the boy never wore underwear. "Eeeuugh. My POINT."

His eyes narrowed, an arm slipping around her waist. Pulling her roughly to his side, Spiked sniffed her hair. Rave tresses that curled, and he wondered how it would look like with piling her hair on top like the Old Times. With Dru.

Oh, how he missed her.

Faith punched Spike's midsection lightly, trying to push him away. He kept pressing up against her, and it wasn't long after that she begun to laugh at his actions. A grin appearing on his own face, mission successful, Spike kissed her forehead. Holding her protectively near his side, they walked down the street with a harsh, unseen authority in the air, giggling and laughing all the while. They were happy, carefree.

The perfect Bonnie and Clyde.

*

"I'm NEVER, EVER doing that AGAIN," Angel resolved, putting down the microphone to a few stray clapping. He looked over at Cordelia who was still beaming, nearly taking a few more bows. Angel politely grabbed her arm and yanked her back with a smile to the audience. "You'll never catch me up on that stage, much less any other one ever again."

Her eyes rolled, taking another half bow. "Oh, the travesty, " she drawled.

"Cordelia, this isn't some party. Remember that."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed, leading him off the stage and back to the bar. "Buffy said to relax. I took it to heart. Did you?"

"That's not the point. I–"

He trailed off, just as the green demon in the suit sauntered up to the two of them. Actually, it was more like he hauled his ass over as fast as he could. At least, that's what Cordelia thought. Looking from either one, the demon spoke quickly.

"I'm Lorne, I run this fine establishment. You think you two can go to the back room? I need to talk with you both."

Her eyebrow raised, Cordelia popped another strawberry into her mouth. "And if we don't?"

"It could meant the difference between life or death." Lorne stood slightly crouched to look at both of their reactions. He wasn't moving anytime soon, much to Angel's disappointment.

Looking to Cordelia, she nodded in agreement to him. Angel and Cordelia both stood up, following Lorne into the so-called back room. After taking a glance at the décor, animal prints, rich flowing silk sheets, a mini bar, Angel took a few steps back. "Uh. No one said anything about the portable motel room."

Lorne chuckled. "Oh no, sweetie. This is my room."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed. "If you're looking for a threesome, then you can forget it. I have exceptions only when there are certain movie stars involved."

Lorne shook his head, green hands rubbing together. He looked buzzed, jazzed even, wanting to tell them what was on his mind. Angel shoved his hands deeper into trenchcoat pockets, looking disinterested.

"When you two were up singing, I read you both. I read auras. Feelings. Guide people on their paths, let them do their own choosing, yadda yadda yadda," Lorne said flippantly, starting to pace. He rubbed his pointy chin, then blurted, "But you two! It was like reading four different people!"

"The last time I checked, there was only one of me," Cordelia murmured. "And you're losing me…"

Angel held back another grin (jeez, where did they keep coming from?!) before sitting at the mini bar. He didn't pour himself anything, just sitting there and letting Lorne talk. Cordelia took up a small spot on the edge of the bed, sitting on it.

"I've read hundreds of people, demons, things, whatever. But none of them were like this."

"How so?" Cordelia became attentive, leaning forward.

Lorne's head canted, trying to put it into words. He looked to Angel. "Especially you."

Her eyes lifting, Cordelia looked over at Angel, who raised an eyebrow.

Eyes narrowing, his voice took on a defensive tone. "What the hell did I do?"

"Now, now. No need to get testy."

"Before I fall asleep, do you think you can get to the point? 'Cause I have a nice bowl of strawberries out there with my name on it," she pointed out. Her shoulders slumping, Cordelia yawned. This was getting tiresome.

Lorne turned to Angel. "You're not from around here."

"He's Irish, if that helps. Although minus the wearing green factor," Cordelia added. After getting a look from Angel in her direction, she shrugged. "Sorry."

"No, no. This isn't your world. That's what I'm trying to explain."

At this, both Cordelia and Angel stiffened, their carefree and amused expressions turning cold, harder. She looked at him apprehensively, but all he could managed was a terse nod, indicating for him to go on. Inwardly wishing Lorne good luck– maybe he could open Angel up– Cordelia waited.

"All I could catch in that jumble-o-rama that was your aura, Angel, was the saying 'Your fate lies twisted and broken, as you are'," Lorne surmised.

Twisted.

Broken.

Each with a psychological and physical meaning that described him. Yes, the accident left him… 'that' way, but more so that it wreaked havoc on his personality. He retreated in, anger and aloneness flaring up because of Doyle's death. The visions grew worse and worse, day by day. If he'd been a vampire, maybe he could've handled it.

Or gone insane from the responsibility, the depression, the longing.

He needed something, but he didn't know what, exactly.

Prescriptions, hidden canisters, trips to the doctor. It was a guilty outing, going to get a check up, without Buffy knowing. Which was hard, since she was more attentive to him, because he was human. But he went. And so she did go along with him after all, seeing him in the hospital.

For once, he'd been in the bed, and she was sitting by his side. Talk about turning tables.

Her could feel her hand now, gripping his own hand, squeezing. Her sobbing chest, shaking…moving. Trying to lift something heavy… Everything was so heavy…

"Angel, god damn it!"

Her voice fell on deaf ears, the sound echoing, rising into a cacophony so loud and piercing… But by then he drifted, and could not remember what he had been thinking about before.

*

"Is he going to be okay?"

She knew that the best thing was to remain calm in this sort of situation. But Angel had been burned, scorned before in a unique twist of fate, something he never fully revealed. How had it happened, she wondered, that his life fell apart so easily… Was it because of the injuries, post-accident? Buffy? Did Spike have anything to do with it?

Cordelia felt lost, a puppet pulled by strings controlled by a malevolent force with a name she couldn't read.

A smooth green hand massaged her shoulder, her eyes lifting from that spot on Angel's chest to look up at Lorne. Sitting next to him, while he rested on Lorne's bed, gave her chills. She felt like repeating her question, to make sense of it all, to harden the truth. Angel had collapsed after Lorne told him the eerie phrase. At first, she thought he was joking, but then remembered Angel was at a loss with some– well, a lot of– humor. He had a vision, and instead of relaying the info to her, he went unconscious.

Every fiber of her being screamed that this was bad.

And God, how could she be so involved in… in him? Where had the no nonsense, stone cold Chase had gone, the girl with dead parents, taking revenge by killing vampires? Would her mom, her dad turn over in their graves when they found out she was friends with a vampire, a killer much like their own murderer? Sure, it was the past, Angel was human now…but…

They KNEW. She felt it, like spiders running down and up her arms.

"Cordelia…" Lorne hesitated, squeezing her shoulder lightly. She stood up, following him off to the side. A quick glance at Lorne's bed showed Angel still resting, asleep, jacket on a chair nearby, thin sweater collar loosened so he got some air, could breathe.

He needed to breathe…

"What? What is it? I mean, is he gonna be all right, or does he need– He needs to go home. He might have some medication there," Cordelia barked, a mile a minute. She rubbed her arms, Lorne's calming and soothing gaze slowing her pace down. But only for a moment.

"Look… From what I gathered, reading …your auras, he was in an accident a while back, right?" After getting a nod from her, he continued, looking briefly at Angel. "Boy's a seer. But he's human, and not meant to carry the visions. I'd say the cards were stacked against him on those odds, but with this 'bonus'…"

Lorne sighed. "To coin a phrase of Elvis, he's been all shook up. The visions are killing him, his mind, brain to be specific. If you get right down to it, the concussion he had, the pills he's taking, it's a cocktail for primo disastero."

"Angel's going to die?" Her voice was thin, shaky, eyes large and dark, uncomprehending. How could she meet someone, a friend, an actual friend and loose him so fast?

"Lady Luck," Lorne offered, a sad explanation. "The best thing you can do is–"

"How can I make it better?"

Cordelia surprised herself, with this strong burst of hope, poured into a confident question. She didn't know Angel at all. Hell, she shouldn't even BE there. She should be in her motel room, lounging on the couch and smacking the small black and white TV. Sporadically laughing at Lucy anger Ricky again, then whine plaintively, while Cordelia drank hot soda from the busted machine, half clad in revealing underwear.

No. She instead had to get herself cut and beat up, stay overnight at a stranger's house, kill damn vampires with him, care about if he died. If he fucking died, someone she didn't even fucking know.

And it wasn't like he was fucking cute, either.

"You can't," Lorne sputtered, hesitating. Almost saying something, but not.

Eyes growing even more intense, Cordelia noticed his reaction. "What the… You keeping something from me?"

To satisfy her growing concern, Lorne opened his mouth to speak. "All I saw between the two of you was pain, heartbreak, terror. You have a dark past honey, and reflecting on that while opening up, trying to bury yourself in the guilt and shame won't do you any good.

"And Angel, well…" The lounge lizard chuckled. "He's not the prime slice of heaven, contrary to the namesake. But what I couldn't get is that it was like reading two people off of him."

"Two? Like him when he was evil, and now?"

"No, no. That's apart of one of the people. But the other is completely different. It's him."

"What the hell?" Her voice was low, afraid to wake him up. He looked so peaceful, eyes closed, brow furrowed as a dream spurned his anger.

"There's the old him, pre-accident. The new him, now. But the old him still lives on, separate from the new him?" Lorne made a face, rubbing his forehead near red horns. "I have GOT to get myself a nightcap. Woo. Poor honey's like analyzing why Björk wore that swansong outfit last year."

Her mood was tumultuous, shifting and fluctuating like an ocean tide. How could he joke at a time like this? Then again, he didn't really know Angel, so–

"You crack another one and I'll drive your head into the damn wall."

Her sudden remark surprised her, made her feel bad from the apprehensive look on Lorne's face. She was a rambunctious girl, she knew, but those sorts of comments were reserved for the real bad guys. Not for demons, good ones who tried to help. Not for those who collapsed, pain visible physically and mentally…god…

Cordelia dropped her arms, letting out a captured breath. "Sorry. I just…"

Lorne nodded, hands going into jacket pockets. "He's your friend, I get that. You want to open up to him, then fine, but you can't just–"

A stir from the bed resulted in Cordelia ditching the conversation to rush to Angel's side. He moaned, trying to sit up, but she held him down. His dark eyes slowly blinked open, pure confusion on a once handsome face. Angel stole a hard gaze around the room before trying to sit up again, then looked over to her.

He opened his mouth to speak, nothing coming, then found his voice again. "I had a vision."

Trying to not let the obvious 'duh' pass her lips, Cordelia nodded. "Think you're up for relaying info?"

He looked lost all of a sudden, and Cordelia was painfully reminded of how fragile and broken he was.

"I didn't see anything… There was too much. It was just…" He trailed off, searching for the right words. Angel cleared his throat, brow furrowing. "Pain. Extreme pain. And images I couldn't even comprehend. I'm used to the vagueness, but this was unreadable."

She bit her lip then, sitting up straight. "I'm gonna get you home."

"What time is it?"

"You've been out for nearly an hour. I helped with things around here," she lied. Truthfully, she had nearly fallen asleep sitting next to his place on the bed. Fascinated with the little mannerisms, the slight jerking if a nightmare had flitted into his consciousness.

If it wasn't his damn hands, now I'm staring at him while he's sleeping. Damn it.

"Cordelia."

"Angel. Shhh. Get up. Slowly, okay?" She put a firm hand on his bicep, helping him up. He moved up abruptly, her head was canted, and their foreheads nearly met. Cordelia felt her eyes close, mouth part and–

No. She was not going to–

What the hell was she doing anyway?

They were leaning, and she could hear Angel swallow the lump forming in his throat. Cordelia became aware that Lorne was there, turning discreetly away. Looking over at him, then back showed Angel's side to her, hunched forward. He forced himself to get up and out of the bed.

Without looking at her, eyes focused on the floor, he said, "Let's go home."

And they did.

*

She rapped on the door, flexing her fingers afterwards. They were much too stiff, cold from the lack of heat. It was weird when you thought about it, the temperature So sunny and warm, and now this. Standing out in the dark hallway, a light flickering, buzzing on then off, did not help much either. Maintenance was not a key tactic in this building, and so she waited.

Any day now…

The door opened, after a series of locks had been released. Wearing nothing but an undershirt, flashes of skin revealing scars, blemishes and bruises from fighting endlessly, face in desperate need of a shave. Hardened, cold, he looked beaten but strong. The young man stared at her for a moment, his fingers on the door edge.

"I know... I know we don't really speak often, but I need you. I need you to help me. It's about Angel."

After a moment's hesitation, he nodded. "Care to come in?"

"Thanks Wesley," she told him, walking into his apartment. The door closed shut behind her, and one could hear the returned greeting end with the 'funny name'.

Buffy.

He wanted her to take her hands off of him, but she wouldn't.

Angel sighed deeply, letting Cordelia hold onto him, help him up the staircase. He considered muttering to himself, but that would take…you know. More energy. So he let her carry on, all the way up, and to his bedroom door. The hallways seemed vacant, morose, unclean and dirty. He didn't bother with the other rooms of the hotel. What for? It wasn't like he had guests staying over.

When they reached his door, the two paused for a moment, her breathing matched his. He was leaning against her now, and she saw out of the corner of her eye, the pain there. Angel tried to hide it, but he looked deathly pale.

He was shaking, too.

Almost as if he read her mind, Angel pushed away from her, standing on his own. He opened the door abruptly, leaning against the frame.

The visions were getting worse. This time he felt his brain nearly explode… Well, it felt like it. The surgery didn't help either. It just amplified the throbbing pain.

Cordelia licked her lips, brushing a long strand of dark brown hair behind her ear.

She saw Buffy's clothes, underwear on his bed.

Their bed.

Buffy and Angel's bed.

Without so much as a look at her, Angel murmured, "Good night, Cordelia."

"Angel, I think I should–"

"I can take care of myself," Angel clipped, head bowed. "You can let yourself out."

The door closed, yet Cordelia could not see him lean against in on the other side, pride gone and the empty shell falling back into place.

*

"Might as well have said, 'Get out, Chase'. But no. He does the sulky brooding thing instead. Honestly, who can put up with that crap?"

Angling the chair so that she leaned the top of her back against the wall, Cordelia yawned. She had no idea why the fuck she was sitting there, much less sleeping. Or hopping a bus a heading for Santa Monica. But no.

No, no, no. That's how all her inner monologues started for… what? Had it been a day already? They'd been gone a few hours, came back, and then went off again to the bar. The 'hour' had been longer than she thought, and the trip back from the bar was tricky. She drove, much to his complaining, but after pointing out he was in no condition to walk, much less drive, he agreed. They came back, and soon it was late in the afternoon, very late.

Night was settling in, darkness shrouding the hotel. It ensnared it like a blanket, outside lights flickering on to show some sign of life. Yet inside, there was only two lives on a daily basis, two people of which one was already half dead.

Well, it went with the saying, 'life imitates art', or something like that. She read it somewhere, once.

Her muscles were cramped, leaning. Sitting up straight and correct in the chair, Cordelia weighed her options. Going into Angel's room was tempting, but she didn't want to risk him giving her the cold shoulder again. Or he might get freaked out with another woman in his room, late at night, and it wasn't Buffy. Hmm. It was possible that he could be horribly scarred underneath his clothes, too.

That's real good. Underneath his clothes. Great vocabulary there.

When it came to Angel, her mind went two ways. One, the sane and cynical route, screaming at her for staying so long. The normal, the safe way was to just thank him, and leave. However, acting as an Investigator… or whatever they called themselves, suited her just fine.

This is wrong.

How, how could her normal, smart attitude be overridden with this… this feeling of morality and judgment, and trust…

Disgusted almost by it all, Cordelia stopped slouching and walked over to the window. "I'm outta here," she murmured, but caught her breath.

I can't just run off yet. What if he needs me… to take care of him, during the night? That vision must have taken a lot out of him.

Through the streaked and dusty glass, she could see a figure walk down the street, right towards the back area of the hotel. Judging by the clothes and hair, Cordelia ventured that it was Buffy. A good, hard look told her it was. The Slayer looked lost, confused almost, but it soon gave way to furtiveness. Stealing a glance left, then right, Buffy continued on her way, avoiding the path that would lead to the hotel and instead sticking close to building shadows.

Every one in a while, Buffy would look back, right behind her, and her brow would furrow slightly. The look was a cross between stubborn and amused, almost like she was struggling to contain a laugh or smirk. But it only happened two or three times before her eyes grew cold and determined.

Looking behind Buffy, Cordelia could see why.

Spike was following her, and neither made their way to the hotel.

*

Faith wondered what was the point of cable.

Besides the sometimes astronomical fee to pay, and the offer of 'dozens of channels!', she found herself checking out the normal, regular channels. Even flipping through them all, infomercial after infomercial, it made no sense. All they did was get her agitated, and she didn't want to bother with the TVGuide.

Feeling itchy, fighty, in need of a good ass kicking, Faith sprawled on the couch. She was deathly bored, and Spike not being there wasn't helping. He knew how she got after slaying something, and now she felt deprived. They found next to nothing while pumping others for information. Nothing on Wolfram and Hart, nor the vampires, or…that girl. Cordelia.

Who, by the way, seemed… weird. And chummy with Angel.

Hmm. Wonder how B feels about that.

Another glance at the clock, and Faith grew more restless. He still wasn't back yet. And yes, Spike was a vampire, over a century old, could do whatever he wanted. It was night now, the time he used to do things.

But damn, she really wanted a quickie.

Cursing under her breath, Faith knew at this point in the movies, the broken hearted girl would put out the candles and throw the dinner in the trash.

All she had was a can of Coke and some coffee cakes, so less energy was spent.

*

Tired and aching muscles made her cramped, so stiff again. Her fingers were still stiff, and the possibility of premature arthritis, if there was such a thing, popped into her mind. She yawned uncontrollably, her thoughts fading to an hour or so earlier.

…Wesley had been alone in his apartment, weapons laid out on the table. He never spoke to many people, and he appreciated being alone. Their friendship wasn't very …well, friendly, at least not since Sunnydale. He left for England, then came back to Los Angeles, a rogue demon hunter. However, they didn't get close after that, what with Angel refusing to talk to anyone.

Angel stayed up in his room for days, weeks. Every time Buffy would go in, he barely spoke a word to her. All the pain, the anguish and harsh reality hit him then. Human. Hurt. Alone. His friend was gone, and so was the strength and motivation. The visions wracked his mind, strenuous and painful, hard and vague. Vampires could take it, live it down. He was human, therefore he was weak.

Which lead to Wesley's initial questioning of Angel's place, how did he become so alone, he asked Buffy. She told him she didn't know. She damn well tried opening him up, and he didn't want to do anything. He was on the verge, she gathered, from the little Doyle spoke about, right after she decided to stay in Los Angeles.

After a brief Sunnydale trip, she received news that would make her never go back home again.

So there they were. Buffy had sat down across from Wesley at the rickety table, glancing about his apartment. It looked straightened, but with the air of someone who only did it to keep things manageable, able to look through. But not for pleasure, or pride.

"What's wrong with him now?" Wesley asked, blunt in his question. They both were well aware of how they spoke to each other rarely, only in dire situations or coincidental meetings in their field of work. It had been each party's fault, but mostly Angel's.

Buffy sighed, fingers running through blonde hair. She leaned back, a slouching position. "Wolfram and Hart. They're onto him again. Found this while hunting vampires."

She produced the business card from her pocket, flipping it onto the table. Wesley paused from cleaning the trigger mechanism on his crossbow with a rag, to lift and inspect the card.

"And you know for certain that they are after Angel."

"No. I don't. But I figure they're up to their old tricks again. That's why I came to you, to see if you know what's the what," Buffy finished. At his look, she explained, "What's going on. Any new player, force, whatever floats your boat."

Flipping the card as if it were a coin, Wesley handed it back to her. "I know that they're booking a club in a couple of days. Maybe a week, perhaps two. Not entirely clear on that. It's a celebration of some sort. They put in a call for a blockade, for the street. Police."

"Big night." Buffy raised an eyebrow. "What, are they throwing the Oscars?"

Movie premieres and celebrity bashes coming to mind, she merely watched her former 'replacement' watcher put the crossbow down. Wesley leaned forward a little, and his look never ceased to amaze her. Where had the scrawny, wimpy Wes gone, and when had this cold and determined young hunter take his place?

Wesley shrugged. "I'm not sure of the details, but if they are going through all of this, it must be of some importance. Rumors going around that it's a contract signing, perhaps an affiliation of some sort."

Hearing the satisfying and symbolic 'click' in her mind, Buffy grinned. Everything had fallen into the right place. It all clicked.

"Thanks a bunch, Wesley."

His piercing blue eyes lifted briefly, before settling again on the new object of his inspection, a snub-nosed .38 revolver. "No problem…"

And it was at this juncture that Buffy yawned, mind coming back to the present. She leaned and picked up her watch, wishing it was the kind that lit up. All these years spent in the dark, and yet she still couldn't read in it.

It was late, she knew, back muscles flexing against the cool bedsheets. So all that remained was sleep, blissful and painful, warm and haunting memories sliding in and out of her consciousness.

*

All motion stopped. The air whistled past their faces, gooseflesh erupting because of the temperature. Delicate fingers caressed his brow and cheek, lingering.

"I love you," she told him in all seriousness. "But you have to learn to let me go."––

FLASH! A trail of black oil, blending into the pavement, a deadly snake leading up to two women. Blonde, brunette, both with strong eyes dissolving into fear, as the cigarette went down from his lips. They twisted in flames once the fire caught on… So much screaming…

FLASH! The Mohra demon clutched his head, and howled in agony. A light burst forth from the hole which held the jewel, intensifying until it consumed the demon in a painful supernova. In the sudden stillness, Buffy moved to Angel, and helped him… His head went in her lap, and she stroked his face. In pain and fairly breathless, he inhaled deep lungfulls of air.

"Buffy… are you…"

Her voice was tender, calming. "Don't talk."

Buffy wrapped herself around him, steadying him as she held him close.

"You're all right. That's all that matters. It's over and you're all right and we're together…" she told him, holding him gently.

Angel held Buffy, lingering concern etched on both their faces. He knew that… this couldn't… He couldn't stay a human with her… He could... This… What?

She stroked his face, and he looked at her, consternation plainly visible. But something else filled him, filled the void where that thought had been. A pure, raw desire, wanting and need to feel her. To love her. It ran through his body like the cool jets of a refreshing shower.

Something went over him. The energy, the heat, the… spell. Wait, what was happening?–

He loved Buffy with all of his being, and could not remember what he was so adamant about before.

FLASH! "See his file?" Her voice in his ears, mind far off… Thinking. Needing. He started to smell her hair, of which she was oblivious to.

"He has Visa, Master Card and a problem - he's our target audience. But if you want to be rude, I guess it's your shop... Angel?"

He kept smelling her hair, also running his fingers through it. Dark and silky, curling ever so slightly. So smooth, and she felt so warm…

"What are you...? Personal bubble - PERSONAL BUBBLE!"

––"I can't stay with you until you see the truth."

"Gahhh!"

Bolting upright in his bed, Angel panted hard, sucking in deep breaths of air. Nightmarish images faded, a surreal reality based on fact and fantasy, a stark comparison to his life. He ran a hand through his hair, moving the strands away so that it didn't look like a bird's nest. Pulse quickened, heart beating wildly, Angel closed his eyes. He reminded himself to calm down, that it was most likely too early in the morning to wake up.

"I bet it's all that damn karaoke," Angel muttered, before smacking his pillow into shape and falling onto it head first. Eyes snapping shut, he forced himself to sleep while yanking the covers over his head.

He already knew it was going to be a long day.

*

She wanted to use his bathroom.

Or at least, she left something in there. No, wait. The toilet flow backed up. Repressing the automatic 'eww' coming to her mind, Cordelia forced herself to wake fully, tanned legs dangling over the edge of her bed. Another night she stayed over, another night she left her motel room alone. Fuck. It would probably be stripped by now.

Then again, her room wasn't as conventional as the others were. Neither was her luggage.

The only valuable thing they'd find is my chain and my jacket. Both on me. Wait. Oh… crap. No, no. Craaaap.

Eyes darting about, Cordelia pulled the bed covers to her chest, long and luxurious hair cascading down. It'd been so long since she last cut it, and by now it was mid-back.

"Great…"

The jacket was nowhere to be found. Chain. Yes. There… around her neck. It seemed silly at first, but these were the solid material possessions she carried along, other items be damned. She needed something tangible, a reminder of her past and to let her know she wasn't a roaming spirit.

Not like I need to get comfy here. This is it. Last day. Overstayed welcome.

Pushing other meticulous thoughts out of her mind, Cordelia headed for the shower to calm herself down. Thankfully, it worked, and after she showered and dressed, she made her way to Angel's room.

Correction. Angel and Buffy's room.

"Just a quick good-bye, and then I'm off," Cordelia murmured, knowing there was no sense in talking to herself in the hallway. Hearing the words spoken out loud made it better though, reminding her that this was not her home. They were not her friends. Merely acquaintances, people she met on the road. No more special than a cranky waitress or a disinterested bus driver.

Door closed, strong fingers turned the knob, and it opened with no sound. Peering in discreetly, Cordelia prayed she had not walked into an… inappropriate situation. 'Cause that would be icky.

"Who's there?"

His voice came to her, harsh and scratchy, sad yet assertive at the same time. Floating on the breeze, her gaze shifted from the gauzy curtains flapping at the open window, to the layout of the room. It was similar to hers, but different, more… messy. Chairs, books, items had been strewn about, a broken shard of wood or two. It looked like a mini-hurricane had hit the room, only not so messy.

Angel walked into view from the right, glancing at her briefly before moving to a small bureau. Cordelia could see the muscles of his back, skin pale, a tattoo in the upper right corner. A bird, or something. He looked good, especially when he bent down a little to take something out of a drawer.

Black drawstring pants a bit low. And there was some–

"Oh. It's just you," Angel murmured a calm tone. He turned around, and the image of perfection, normalcy, shattered. Pulling a dark brown T-shirt over his head, a brief flash of a surprisingly defined stomach was seen, then her eyes lifted.

Hmm. Hope he didn't notice the staring.

"'Just me?' Now is that any way to greet a guest?" Her tone was lilting, teasing. To conceal the slight disappointment of leaving… No. She wasn't even supposed to stay the night. Sure, the excuse of wanting to watch over him could work, but she never ventured into the room. Cordelia did not want to risk seeing him and his girlfriend in bed together.

Hence, her current stance in the doorway.

He looked almost hurt, or what could pass for hurt on his face. "Sorry."

Changing the subject to alleviate the tense feeling in the air, Cordelia said, "I'm leaving today."

Well, not exactly alleviate.

"You are?" Angel sounded surprised, regretful all of a sudden. He knew it was only a matter of time before she left. Why should she stay longer? Hell, she'd stayed longer than anyone else he had met briefly. Most of them did not even dignify him with a simple conversation. Then again, the constant lowered eyes and clipped tone did not help his personality either.

Clearing his throat before she could speak, Angel adjusted his shirt. "Well. Of course you'd be going. No reason for you to stay here."

Shit. Goooood one, man. Good one.

"Right," she responded after a moment's hesitation, then nodded enthusiastically. "You're right. No reason whatsoever."

"Uh huh." He waited, uncomfortable in the silence that hung over them both. "I'll take you downstairs."

Nodding, Cordelia focused her eyes on the floor as he walked by her, jacket collar clenched…then crumpled in her fists. Crumpled, like the day ahead, her interest and friendship, however short it may be, fading away.

*

Angel remembered what it was like to feel again.

To feel the tiled floor beneath him, the soft hush of leather boots making their way down the staircase. To watch her back muscles flex, just slightly, as she walked in front of him. She decided to wear the outfit she met him in, dark clothing, leather pants, and a tough attitude.

Wait. Leather pants.

Only natural that now you're a human, you'd think like one.

It still freaked him out, sometimes, to say out loud, to think that yes, he was human now. He spent most of his life as a vampire, so the little things clearly escaped him. Sure, being a vampire was not like being an entirely different form and body on the outside, but inside…

His eyes rose, and Angel found himself at the foot of the staircase, feeling her eyes on him.

"This is where I get off," Cordelia joked, casting a glance up at him before looking down to adjust her jacket. The material was dark, so the scrubbed bloodstains did not show through. He'd cleaned her clothes, adjusted her stuff, took her to the bed in the first place. Noting the hesitancy in his peers, Angel had pointed out that they helped everyone of different species, backgrounds, and genders.

After all, it would be supremely ironic and idiotic if he went against that mission statement after what happened to him.

She almost cracked a smile, her hard gaze on Angel. Waiting, wanting him to say something, anything–

"Good morning all," came the accented voice from the back door entrance, right near where they where standing. The glass door opened slowly, and Spike barged in, tarp over his head and smoking. He bumped into Angel, grabbing him and spinning him around as a protective shield.

The sunlight startled Angel, so his old reflex kicked in, arms raising to deflect the light. Feeling foolish because of his actions, Angel squinted to see Buffy follow Spike, holding a white cardboard box and a brown paper bag.

"I bring donuts and drink. Yee," Buffy chirped, handing the box to Angel. "No need to thank me all at once."

Slightly surprised, Angel tried to thank her, but– "Spike. Get your damn hands off of me."

The young vampire realized he kept using Angel as a shield. Mock dusting off Angel's shoulders, Spike walked towards the office area right after, taking off the blanket. "Right then."

Rolling her eyes, Buffy dug into the brown paper bag. "Idiot," she murmured, expressing her thoughts in regard to Spike. Meanwhile, Cordelia looked amused yet conflicted, while Angel simply looked embarrassed.

"Buffy?" Cordelia looked to the stairs, then to the Slayer. "You were– where were you?"

"What? …Cordelia, right."

"I thought I saw you outside late last night, near the hotel. Right after me and Angel came home. I thought you were going to come in."

Buffy cleared her throat, stopping from taking the wrapper off of her straw. "Oh… I was slaying… You now how it is. Then I came back home and got some shut eye."

"Then how come you're wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday?"

"What is this? Twenty Questions?" Buffy joked, opening the cap of her drink. She took a long swig, glancing at Angel with a look before heading to join Spike in the office.

Letting that settle in for a moment, Cordelia raised an eyebrow. She shook her head, amused, then went to sit on the couch near the staircase.

"Y'know, your little Slayer girl and British guy back there seem a bit...I don't know...High-strung?" Cordelia said, looking at the office, then back to Angel.

"Huh. Really." Angel gave a bit of a chuckle, but his demeanor soon was serious as he stared at Cordelia, folding his arms. She was fidgeting, hesitant to leave, he guessed. Her case was not a shut one. It kept on, and he was clearly intrigued to find out how it began.

"What?" Cordelia asked, looking up at him, clearly confused.

"How come I feel you're not telling me everything?" Angel snapped as he started to pace back and forth. He looked pained to do so, besides his erratic walk, but the look on his face.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Cordelia said, an apprehensive look.

"Look. Just drop the façade. I know something's up. If you want me to help you, I will. But you have to be honest with me, Cordelia," Angel turned to face her. He then walked over and sat next to her on the couch. She immediately sat up straight and seemed to have a sudden interest in her nails.

"I know you might feel out of place here in LA, but I can help you with whatever's troubling you, if you just let me try," Angel said, moving to sit closer to Cordelia. She could feel his close presence, and she felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

"Just tell me, Cordelia," Angel asked politely, and with that, he put his large hand on Cordelia's thigh. He was startled that he actually did that, because he would only do that with Buffy. Cordelia remained undaunted, and her hazel eyes looked downcast as she tilted her head forward, dark brown bangs getting into her eyes. She then took her hand in her own hands, and seemed to be even paler than Angel himself at that moment.

"Not very warm..." Cordelia started, turning to look at Angel through her bangs. She then looked back at his hand, turning it so she could see his palm. "You have a very long lifeline...But that makes sense, doesn't it?"

He swallowed, looking at her smaller fingers.

"Tell me." Angel gritted, turning away to stare at the floor. The sound of bickering and stray laughter could be heard coming from the office.

"All right. If you have to know, I was just…I travel from place to place. Not much of a quiet person, so I tend to make enemies that way." She licked her lips. "I'm here on a mission to stop a certain group from joining another," Cordelia said, looking at her nails once more. Angel took his hand away, a questioning look on his face.

"What groups are you talking about? Is there some way I can help?" he asked, but a shake of Cordelia's head was her only answer.

"I've already told you too much information," she said, looking uncomfortable.

"Too much? You only told me a little and now you're all secretive?"

"I have to go." Cordelia stood up, yanking her jacket from its position on the couch's armrest. Angel grabbed her arm, making her turn and face him. So involved in this was she, that they both failed to notice a small envelope folded in half, fall between the crack of the couch cushions.

"You can't just walk away from your problems. I'm here to help you!" Angel said a bit loudly, but she managed to get out of his grip. As a last ditch effort, he grabbed onto her leather jacket, restraining her from moving further. "Please Cordelia. Let me try."

"I...I have to go," Cordelia said, tugging on her jacket, a pleading look in her eyes. Angel relinquished his hold on it, but not before he pleaded once more, begging almost. No. No. I can't lose anyone else again. I don't have the strength.

She ran to the front door of the hotel, taking one last look at her temporary protector right before running out into the sunlight.

Uncomfortable, Angel shoved his hands into his pockets, looking down at the floor.

He still didn't notice the envelope that was in her pocket slip into the cracks between the cushions.

All he could notice was the ability to feel, that it began to slip away from him like the happiness that had long since left his heart.


Continue on...